Four: Independence.
"When is Kit home? I wanna show him my drawing!" Molly whined, her voice echoing through the quiet living room, as it had done repeatedly for the last three hours, ever since her mother had picked her up from school.
Her eyes turned expectantly to the door, to her mother sitting at the desk, and then to Baloo lounging in the big armchair.
"I'm sure he'll be right in, Pigtails," the pilot answered, his voice calm and unconcerned. "Boys his age need their time roaming around."
The young cub huffed, her gaze shifting to glare at the brown figure in her drawing in lieu of the real boy.
The picture was of him and her riding Henry, the young Yenkara they had freed from an evil man and returned to his mother not too long ago. Her teacher had called it and her retelling of the events 'very imaginative', which – of course – was grown-up for 'I don't believe a single word you just said'.
Be as it may, Molly was very proud of it, and was dying to show it to Kit.
Kit, who still wasn't here.
"Come to think of it, Baloo, when is he supposed to be home?" Rebecca narrowed her eyes as he looked up at her with that blank expression that drove her up the walls. "He has a curfew, right?" she pressed, her voice tinged with worry.
Baloo blinked dumbfoundedly at her one more time before a wide, teasing grin curled around his muzzle.
Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing to her with that look!
"Relax, Becky, of course he has a curfew. It's 'Nightfall'."
The bearess scoffed at the lack of precision that was typical for the male in front of her. She looked out the window, seeing the sun had already more than halfway sunken into the ocean, casting an orange-pink hue over the sky.
Two hours later, with the sky dark, and still one cub short, Rebecca got antsy.
Cape Suzette wasn't a vast city like Winger City was, but still shady enough in parts that a young boy could get himself into serious trouble.
The room felt heavy with tension; every passing minute amplifying Rebecca's concern.
"He should be home by now!" she exclaimed.
"He's running a little late. Don't get yer knickers in a bunch," Baloo retorted, doing no more than a mediocre job of hiding his own worry.
"Last time he was late, he got mugged," she said, reminding him. The memory sent a shiver down her spine.
She walked over to the armchair where Molly slept in Baloo's arm.
"I know," he grumbled.
How could he forget? He'd almost had a heart attack when Kit had walked in, battered, bruised, and sporting a black eye; his airfoil bent in all the wrong ways with brutal force. That could have been Kit, too.
"I have to get Molly home. It's a school night." She picked up the sleeping cub, grateful that at least one of them would get some rest tonight.
"Hmm-mmm."
"Call me when he gets home. Call the police if he isn't here by midnight."
As soon as the door clicked shut, Baloo sprang out of his chair, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. He hurriedly paced from the window to the clock, then to the door, and back to the window, his steps heavy on the wooden floor.
When Kit entered the main room from Higher for Hire's 'file archive', the small room next door with the open window, a most unexpected and unwelcome sight greeted him.
Baloo was on the phone, his tone and sentences all muddled, as he answered question after question from whoever was on the other end. "Yeah, about… hmmm… that tall…" He was vaguely flailing his hand around the height of his elbow, going up to his head and down again. It looked like he was trying, and failing, to subtract the difference from his own height.
None of that was helpful to the other person.
"Oh, sure! Brown; all over. No, more like a chestnut. Yup, ears all fluffy and…" As he turned around to search for the right words to describe his lost charge, his eyes unexpectedly locked onto the cub standing there.
He froze.
"Aaaaand he's right here! Thank you, officer, it's all right now! Yes. Yes, I will. Ok, bye!"
The horn hit the hook hard, making both bears jump.
A long, heavy silence stretched between them.
Kit's face turned into a mask of horrified disbelief.
No matter what turns his life had taken, be it as a runaway, a homeless kid, an air hobo or an air pirate, there had always been one consistency: Kit Cloudkicker and law officials didn't mix well.
Baloo should have known that, and yet...
"You called the cops on me?!" Kit's voice trembled with accusation, his eyes wide with shock.
Overcome with relief that the boy had come home at last – and no worse for wear at first glance – Baloo's mood soured at the cranky tone in his voice.
"Of course I did! Yer were supposed to be here hours ago! What happened?! What were you thinking?! Where were you?!" Each question was punctuated by a step forward, until Baloo loomed over the child, gesturing wildly with his hands.
Too caught up in his own emotions, he didn't notice he'd backed the cub against the wall.
Hands tightly clenched into fists, Kit forced down memories of previous times he had been forced into this position; trying very hard not to lose his cool. Staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed over; not truly seeing anything in front of him, focusing instead on the sound of his own breathing.
Baloo was safe.
From the very beginning, knowing next to nothing about him, he had offered him his friendship, a place to stay, and a job. A future.
Baloo was safe.
Baloo had welcomed him back with no consequences when he'd pretended to rejoin the air pirates, when he'd run away for real with Daring Dan, or to Thembria in hopes of something better. Oh, what a fool he had been.
Baloo was safe.
He'd never so much as lifted a hand against him, even at times Kit would have agreed he had earned it, with all the trouble he had caused. Not even when he had bitten him.
Baloo was safe.
No, this wasn't one of those times when he'd eventually slide down in a heap of pain and misery.
Baloo was mad at him for reasons he couldn't quite grasp, but he wouldn't hurt him. Kit firmly believed that, and it fueled his determination. It was this deep-rooted belief that convinced him his goal wasn't the front door. His goal was the upstairs bedroom.
"Boy, are yer even listening to me?!" Baloo's voice broke through his thoughts, harsh and demanding.
Unaccustomed to being talked down like that by Baloo, Kit's pride surged within him. "I'm back; are you happy now?! No big deal!"
"No big–?!" He sucked in air at the impudence. Bolstered by indignation, his voice rose another notch. "Yes, BIG DEAL! Yer should've been here five hours ago!"
"Says who?" Kit challenged, voice dripping with irritation.
"SAYS I!" Baloo roared.
By the sudden spark in the kid's eyes, he immediately realized that had been the wrong answer.
"Hey, listen Kit…"
"No, you listen!" he barked, his upper lip trembling as he bared his teeth. "I'm sick of having to justify myself all the time! You can't tell me what to do!"
'You can't tell me what to do! You're NOT my dad!'
The memory of those words struck Baloo like a lightning bolt, rendering him speechless. He blinked at the panting cub; his fur bristled and small paws balled into fists.
Kit had been angry then, too. Angry enough to run. Angry because he couldn't see that Baloo only had his best interests – his safety – in mind. It was like it couldn't get into the kid's head that he only wanted to take care of him.
But… Wasn't that exactly what he'd told Becky just a few months ago?
'Molly always knows you're looking out for her. Kit never had that; never had the luxury of feeling safe by relying on others.'
Kit truly didn't understand, and it wasn't his fault.
Taking the time to really look at the situation, at the position they were in, Baloo heaved a great, long sigh, and took a step back.
Caught completely off guard, Kit couldn't help but stare at the large bruin.
What the heck had just happened? Baloo never backed out of a fight. It was like someone had turned off a switch on his anger, and poof !
What… What was he supposed to do with his own anger now?
He knew it was neither a feint nor a ruse. Therefore, he didn't really need it anymore. He just didn't know what to do with it.
Watching the cub with bated breath, it almost broke Baloo's heart to notice his hesitation; the delay, the tentative way his small ears rose, and the lost expression shining through his tough guy act.
Feeling bone tired now that the adrenaline had left him, Baloo rubbed his face and sighed. "How about some shut-eye, Lil' Britches? It's late."
Still unsure of what had happened, Kit passed him without looking up, dragging his body up the stairs. When he had almost reached the upper landing, an urgent thought occurred to Baloo.
"Kit?"
The cub stopped mid-step, but didn't turn around.
Baloo was relieved to see at least one ear cocked in his direction, the sight bringing a sense of hope to his weary heart.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, concerned.
The question hung in the air as the silence stretched between them.
Then, "No, just tired."
"Good, that's good…" He scratched his neck, the sensation of his claws grazing his skin grounding him in the moment, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say. "Ehm… See yer in the morning."
"Hmm-mm."
"Kit?"
"Hmm?"
"Just so yer know, I'm very happy yer back!" he emphasized, hoping the kid would understand. He was a bear of a great many emotions, but most of the time they controlled him more than the other way around.
"Me, too," came the soft reply, barely above a whisper. "Sorry I was late."
Baloo smiled, warmth spreading through his tired body.
The bedroom door closed, the sound of its click echoing in the stillness.
This could have ended a lot worse, but he wasn't too proud of how he'd handled the words 'Says I!' echoed through his mind, his own voice mingling with another.
30 years hadn't dulled the sting of hurt and powerlessness he'd felt as a cub hearing those words time and time again from his own father. The memories were vivid, etched into his very being, as was the scent of fear and disappointment that accompanied them.
His father, the man whose actions had made sure Baloo had never wanted to have children of his own.
A resolve that had almost compelled him to dismiss the young cub when he'd been about to leave after their first meeting.
He hadn't wanted a cub, especially not one with 'trouble' written all over his face in capital letters.
Baloo had barely managed to take care of himself so far; taking care of a kid on top?
Nope, not happening, he just wasn't dad-material.
He didn't even know how to be a father. Not a good one, anyway.
But Kit hadn't looked like he needed one. That's what had made Baloo reach out to the cub. Kit'd been in need of a friend, of a place to stay, and a job, certainly, but he'd been as self-reliant as they came.
It had taken some time for him to realize that wasn't a good thing.
Since then, he'd worked much harder than anyone would ever know to make sure he'd never be like that man.
Wrung out and desperate for some well earned shut-eye himself, Baloo sank into the comfortably broken-in easy chair, finding rest at last.